


Unfinished Matters

by adelheid



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Extremely Dubious Consent, F/M, Forced Orgasm, Power Dynamics, Prostitution, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-13
Updated: 2018-01-31
Packaged: 2018-10-31 05:34:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10892766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adelheid/pseuds/adelheid
Summary: AU during TFA. Unkar Plutt forces Rey to work as a "pleasure slave" in his establishment. Until a certain Knight of Ren comes upon her one evening.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is seriously dark and icky, in the beginning at least, so please be aware of the warnings and tread carefully. I'm sure this idea may have been tackled before, but if the subject makes you uncomfortable, please steer clear.

 

Rey raises her feet against the window frame and stares up at the moons. They glow a serene white against the dark sky. Jakku is a red sea, quieted by moonlight. The squares are empty now, the market has packed for the day, and the same tired orchestra is playing in Unkar Plutt’s tavern. She threads her hands through her hair, knotting her braid while she listens to the terrible renditions of folk songs downstairs. Visitors like to hear about the great desert legends of Jakku. One such legend claims there is a secret city buried beneath the sands. A rich and beautiful fortress made of onyx and rubies. It was swollen by a giant serpent a thousand years ago, but if one should go deep enough underground, one might just find it.

Rey tried to, when she was ten. She walked around with an electrical spade she’d built from junk parts and she kept digging holes wherever she thought the city’s entrance might be. She never found it. She doesn’t remember much from that time, just this all-consuming desire for escape. Almost ten years later, she still stares at the moons and wonders if she will ever leave this damned place. It has become evident to her that her parents will never come back. And at this point, what would she even say to them? Their daughter is a whore.

They don’t call her that, though. Whores on Jakku are called “pleasure girls” and sometimes, when the customers are drunk enough, they call them "slaves". Which is actually more honest, even though equally loathsome. 

Unkar Plutt told her she should feel lucky. Up until recently, she’d only had to work in his brothel as a servant. He had spared her the indelicate duties of a pleasure girl. But when Rey turned eighteen, Unkar felt sufficient time had passed and that she might have more uses to him than carrying a mop. “I’ve honored my duties,” he kept telling her with great pride. “I’ve kept you safe for more than a decade. But it’s time to collect.”

The only really “lucky” thing about her new position, if it can be called that, is that customers don’t usually choose her. She’s skinny and coltish, all angles and cliffs. Her skin is pocked with desert tan and her figure is boyish, lacking in charm and allure. Only the very perverse or the very nervous pick her. The former usually infantilize her and fantasize about her as a child, while the latter just want an unattractive girl to talk to.

It turns her stomach every time she thinks about the men and women who have plotted her body. There haven’t been many; just enough to leave a permanent mark, no matter how much she scrubs her skin or changes clothes. 

Tonight would be no different. The clock is ticking, and very soon, she’ll have to climb downstairs and greet the guests, or at least make a semblance of hospitality.

This is the moment of the evening she dreads most. When the moonlight dances on the wall and her face is bathed in funereal white. When the shadows lurk, ready to seize her.

Lately, her dreams have been more and more vivid. She _feels_ a darkness coming, bigger than her parents, bigger than the mysterious universe waiting beyond this wretched planet. But she always wakes up before she can find out what it means.

Rey hears the midnight bells, signaling her downstairs.

* * *

The first thing she notices tonight is the absolute quiet. There was music only a few minutes ago, but the band has stopped playing. There’s not much sound coming from the patrons either. Not even the clicking of glass and the scraping of chairs. No animated talking, no whispers. _Odd_.

Rey wraps her shawl around her tighter as she reaches the ground floor.

Unkar beckons her with an unctuous smile, behind which she can sense a veiled threat. She took too much time loitering upstairs.

She quickly scurries after him into the parlor, where the guests are waiting.

The other girls are draped across silver boards upholstered in lurid red plasma. Some of them hold foamy drinks in their hands – concoctions which numb the body and the senses - and their half-lidded eyes stare at the customers with practiced hunger. Inside, they are tired and bored.

She spies Alys in a dark corner, stirring her drink with a stick, and she makes her way to her friend.

The redhead is trying her best not to look ill. Rey knows poor Alys has been battling a particularly virulent flu all month. Not that Unkar would care. Rey slips next to her and pats her shoulder.

“You okay?”

Alys nods, wordlessly, and gives a half-smile.

“You don’t look okay, no offense,” Rey insists, touching her forehead, which almost sizzles with fever.

“Shh, don’t give me away. Tonight might be my lucky tonight,” Alys jokes, even though her tone is in earnest. Ever since one of the establishment’s boys, Finn, made it off Jakku with a pilot who picked him for one night, Alys has entertained the hope she might escape too.

Rey doesn’t want to dampen her spirits, not when this is the one thing her friend can look forward to, but she’s very doubtful that such a “miracle” could happen twice. And anyway, how would they even know if Finn was all right, wherever he was? What if the pilot had got bored with him?

“You have to drink something better than this, at least,” Rey comments, wrinkling her nose at the drink Alys is still stirring.

“You'll be happy to know Una slipped me a vitality pill before you came down, and I’m trying to make the most of it,” her friend explains, pointing at the tankard.

“Real or counterfeit?”

Alys raises her eyebrow. “It’s all fake anyway, isn’t it? Now shush, you’re going to get us in trouble.” She nudges her head in the direction of the hallway.

It’s the first time Rey actually notices the source of the overbearing silence.

Tonight’s customers are a bit different from the regulars.

For one, they’re wearing uniforms. First Order uniforms. And they’re all sporting weapons that could incapacitate you faster than you could blink. They’re not a friendly lot; their faces are sober and pinched. Rey wonders briefly if maybe this is some kind of inspection. If so, there must be stormtroopers outside the premises, waiting to hear the signal. Why didn’t she check the yard before leaving her quarters? She shouldn’t have been staring at the moons.

Unkar Plott scrambles towards them noisily, carrying his bulk with the grace of a wyrm as he tries to ingratiate himself with the officers. Rey can hear him talking about “being honored to have you under my humble roof” and she feels her tongue sticking to the roof of her mouth. Unkar can be extremely servile to his guests while still dictatorial to his underlings. He’s a good actor, she’ll give him that.

But something is spoken between the officers and her boss which momentarily breaks Unkar’s carefully cultivated character. His triple chins wobble as he considers the new information. He nods his head vigorously and turns around with a grim expression on his face.

“Everyone back to their quarters! Quickly now!”

Rey is stumped. Normally, this would be good news. It means no one has to work tonight. But she senses trouble ahead. Nothing good can come out of this, not when Unkar looks so displeased.

She helps Alys up as they both rush towards the stairs.

“I told you tonight’s my lucky night,” her friend whispers with a smile.

Rey smiles back, although she can’t shake the odd feeling that someone is watching her. She turns around, one foot on the step above, but she’s only met with the other girls’ empty eyes. They don’t even really see her.

And yet… she feels a tingling down her spine, like a spider’s touch on her sensitive nerves.

She shakes her head and hurries after Alys.

* * *

 Rey unbraids her hair and massages her scalp as she sits by the window, in the very same place as before. Everything is bound to repeat itself, it seems. She hates these silly buns that Unkar keeps making her wear. They used to symbolize her childhood and - though it pains her now - her parents’ possible return. If she still looked like the Rey they’d left, they’d be able to recognize her. But that dream died a long time ago and she sometimes felt like cutting the braids right off.

She’s nodding off now, lulled by the soft breeze and the moonlight, when the door to her room jerks open with a start.

Rey is on her feet too quickly and she feels dizzy with the rush of adrenaline.

The man – _is_ he a man? – who steps forward is terrifying to survey. His dark robe billows behind him and his face is covered by a metal mask.

Rey clutches her fists behind her back, willing herself to stand tall.

The figure pauses before her, his gait so imposing and domineering that she almost has the absurd urge to curtsey.

She’s heard rumors of the First Order’s high-ranking generals who often sport fear-inspiring armor, but she somehow doubts he’s one of them.

Still, who or _what_ else could he be?

She gathers the remains of her courage and clears her throat.

“Hello.” It’s the best she can do at the moment, stupid as it may be.

The impenetrable figure says nothing, only keeps watching her. The door behind him has closed shut.

“Um. How are you this evening?” she continues, following through with her practiced lines. They seem so foolish in this context.

The man shifts, and it looks like a shadow made solid, as he walks towards one of the wicker chairs in the corner. He sinks his full weight down.

Rey is surprised the chair doesn’t break. He looks like he could cut through steel.

She doesn’t know what the hell she’s supposed to do now. She tries to play along.

“I’m honored that you’ve –” She’s about to say _chosen me for the evening_ , but that’s not right either. He didn’t choose her, no one was chosen tonight. And yet he's here. So, there must have been some kind of arrangement she's not aware of.  She doesn't like being in the dark. 

“Remove your trousers.”

Rey blinks.

The voice is a mechanical warble that is alien to human sound, and yet there is _something_ resembling a man behind it.

It’s almost funny – to hear that voice demand something so ridiculous.

“ _Just_ my trousers?”

“Nothing else is necessary,” he explains with cool detachment.

Rey is somehow thankful. He wants to get right down to business. He doesn’t require her to strip slowly or concoct some seduction number to get him going.

She pulls the string from her canvas trousers loose and she lets the fabric fall down her legs with a whoosh. She’s not wearing any underwear, mostly because it’s an inconvenience to the customers. Her blouse just barely covers her modesty, though she is otherwise exposed.

She suddenly feels the cool night air on her skin and she shudders. It’s not like this is her first time, not by a long stretch, but she hasn’t really been with anyone like this man before.

“Lie down on the bed,” he instructs, still sitting in that bloody chair, still watching her.

Rey swallows a sigh and lowers herself on the woolen covers. She doesn’t like the idea of lying down and losing visual contact, but then again what choice does she have? A popular refrain in her life.

She lies back and stares at the ceiling. Her hand comes up to her hair and she realizes with a wry smile that half her hair is still braided. What a sight she must look. But she finds she hardly cares. She doesn’t want to make this easier for him, does she?

She hears a rustle in the distance, like a wind passing through the desert. She doesn’t hear the chair creak. He moves quietly, despite his heavy bulk.

Rey’s heart is beating faster now. She’s never had one like him inside her. What will he do to her? Will he hurt her? 

She’s hidden a blade under the mattress, but she knows to use it only in emergencies.

 _Get a grip_ , she chides herself. _He’s from the Order._

He finally comes into her line of sight, towering over her like a dark obelisk. He’s still wearing his mask. It gleams like onyx in the moonlight, a strange, almost mesmerizing effect. It reminds her of the city under the sands. The city that does not exist.

Small tremors traverse her body. His proximity is intimidating. It's hard not seeing a face. It's hard not being able to gauge your partner. 

His gloved hands suddenly land on her thighs, spreading her legs apart. His touch is cold and firm.

Rey forces herself to be pliant, to be flexible. This is always the hardest part. No, not the penetration itself, but the stupefying moments before it. When the man usually makes a clumsy attempt to get her to cooperate.

There’s nothing clumsy here. No awkward proceedings. His fingers carve shallow indentations in her hips, prying her open like a fresh carcass.

Her breath hitches in her throat.

“Stand still,” he tells her, his voice still warped, but deeper somehow, more present. He doesn’t sound aroused, but it’s clear he’s determined to carry on with his task.

Rey grits her teeth and nods her head, willing the moons above to give her strength.

She doesn’t hear him unzip and she can’t see anything from her horizontal position, so when his head is suddenly rubbing against her entrance, she has to grip the sheets and swallow a small hiss. He seems to stall for a moment, his dick parting her dry folds slowly, seeking some lubrication that just isn’t there. He doesn’t seem displeased by it. With one swift and decisive motion, he drives into her.

Rey closes her eyes shut and exhales in fragments, afraid that she will shriek.

He’s big. Fuck. She _hates_ it when they’re big. This one is uncommonly hefty and it burns her like molten lava from within. It’s like being excavated and liquefied at the same time. He thrusts deeper, sheathing himself inside her until she can feel nothing but his dick. His size is forcing her to open herself even wider. She wants to tell him to _stop_ , to go fuck himself, but at the moment all she really needs is for him to remove his giant cock and let her breathe.

And he does.

He suddenly pries himself out of her, as if he’s read her mind. Rey opens one tentative eye. His mask looms over her like a harbinger of death. He looks down briefly.

“You are bleeding,” he remarks matter-of-factly.

And only now can she feel the warmth oozing from her cunt. 

 _No shit_ , she thinks. _Your monster dick did that._

She feels his fingers tighten their hold on her hips as he lifts them up against his armor.

It’s – it’s weird, but she feels a kind of energy coming from him. Alys would tell her it’s the guy’s aura, because she believes in stuff like that. But Rey isn’t sure. It feels more like a negative field. It tastes like ash and blood. Or maybe that’s simply her own blood.

She wants to ask him permission to wipe herself, but before she can even open her mouth, he’s thrusting into her again with the full force of his manhood.

Rey can’t help the whimper that escapes her lips. He fills her up so completely, she can hardly breathe.

There’s something dark and almost _satisfied_ about his energy now.

Rey stares up at the ceiling.

 _He’s going to tear me apart_ , she thinks with a sinking feeling. _He's a literal dickhead._

The masked figure lifts her hips up in time with his thrusts as he pummels into her, again and again. He drives in and out like a well-oiled machine with a clear end in sight.

Rey feels the pain each time, but since he’s hoisted her mid-air, it’s more of a sting than a burn. She _should_ be grateful for the accommodation, but she still hates his stupid, giant cock.

She hates it even more because this guy seems like the type who will take his sweet time to  _unwind_. He doesn’t finish fast. So she’ll be here under him for a while, trying to take his length without ripping in half.

God, if only she could force him to come now.

She stares at the anonymous mask. It’s so surreal, being fucked like this. In some galaxies she imagines it constitutes as a fetish.

She prays to the moons above for him to lose control and spend himself inside her quick. She knows she’s not offering him any encouragement, but she can’t bring herself to seduce a mask. She just wants him to come, let him come, let him come, let him _come_ – just _come_ - 

She’s suddenly shoved roughly into the mattress as his hips collide with hers and a deep, inhuman groan escapes the mask. It sounds like the rumble of her old desert skiff, like the ground is splitting open.

Her eyes widen as she feels his cum coating her insides in thick jets.

It’s – it’s over.

They are both frozen for a while.

She can hear his labored breathing. She senses danger lurking in that sign of life. His energy now feels different, almost _surprised_.

She closes her eyes, wondering if he’ll take his time cleaning up. Maybe she can pretend to be unconscious until he leaves the room.

A gloved hand suddenly comes up to her throat.

“ _Look at me_.”

Rey is too shocked by the gesture to even put a fight. She flings her eyes open. The mask is dangerously close to her face. She couldn’t look away if she wanted to.

He isn’t choking her, his grip is not even hard, and yet she feels the air leaving her throat by degrees.

And something – _something_ is tugging at her.

Something similar to that undercurrent she felt on the stairs. A spider’s touch.

Rey parts her lips, feeling like she is about to scream, but instead, she issues a soft “ _please_ ”. And she feels the ominous thing withdrawing, its tug less powerful than before.

The man releases her and she falls back on the bed like a rag doll.

The mark of his gloved fingers is still warm on her throat.

He’s walking away from her now. There’s a mess of cum and blood between her legs.

Rey doesn’t have the strength to look up or say goodbye, not that she wants to.

He pauses by the door, as if he wants to say something, but his mask makes such a guess ridiculous. His energy is closed-off now, like a wall has been erected between them.

Rey blinks and he is gone, only moonlight in his wake.

* * *

The mission had forced him to temporarily land on Jakku. His troops required supplies from the Niima Outpost. And he required something else.

He chooses her from the sorry mob.

If he were to articulate why, the reasons would be rather simple.  She looks clean and unattractive and undistinguished. There would be no danger or temptation in sleeping with a desert rat like her. No kind of deviance from his usual strictures, no impurity in his regime. Only ordinary release, which he is conditioned to get from time to time.

He does not need to step into that dingy parlor to pick her. He only has to use the Force to see inside the shabby establishment and find what he needs.

Discretion is key when it comes to such sordid affairs. If only he could use the Force to expend himself from afar. But alas, _that_ miserly function requires contact.

Still, he thinks he's chosen a good subject; non-descript and unappealing.

Yes, the girl does have some kind of personality. He can thumb through her mind easily, and despite her poor attempt at civility, she’s not the taming sort. Her language is quite colorful, to say the least. But she's still quite young, and it’s nothing he hasn’t heard before.

Suppose it is _rather_ satisfying that she hates his “monstrous dick”. He finds a thread of dark humor in the vulgar wording. But he’s far from being piqued.

No, the girl is just a blip on his radar. In fact, she wouldn’t have registered at all.

 Until – until he heard her voice in his head.

_Come…come…come…_

At first, he thought he was reading her mind. But the sensation which gripped him was utterly novel and yet utterly familiar. 

It was as if she – a mere _whore_ – was somehow reaching out to _him_ , a Sith Lord.

Impossible. Highly absurd, even.

But he came inside her with a blinding, staggering force he hadn't felt in a long time. It happened so suddenly, so wholly, that it took him several moments to recover. The worst of it was that it had given him physical pleasure. 

It was almost as if she had had some power over –

 _No_. That would be insulting and downright inconceivable.

It was his imagination playing tricks on him. Too much time spent on these wretched desert planets. 

And yet, he can't shake off the voice in his head.

When he wound his hand around her throat, he trapped the erratic pulse against his palm, and he almost felt tempted to squeeze the life out of her, to use the Force to deplete her, but something arrested him. A soft warning from his Master that it would be a sorry lack of control, even a  _waste_ to kill someone like her. And another voice, his own, told him that he needed to know.

He needed to know  _how_ this had happened. Whether it was a fluke, or some kind of accident.

“Look at me," he commanded. 

Her eyes were open, and their depths could easily be plumbed by one as powerful as him, yet when he tried to read her, she was curiously hollow and empty.

“ _Please_ ,” she whispered, eyes blinking with fear. But despite her trepidation, it felt as if she’d erected a wall between them. Which was ridiculous. Nothing stood in his way. Nothing ever had. His seed was leaking out of her on the sheets. That blood was there because of him. How was she now impenetrable?

He needed to leave before he did anything worse.

He paused at the door, staring at the ravished girl.

He would come back, when he had the time. The matter wasn’t finished. 


	2. Chapter 2

 

 

The apricot tastes like metal between her lips. She spits the pit in the palm of her hand. It looks translucent, like the burning core of a small planet. She knew she was wasting her spare change, but she wanted to at least entertain the illusion of eating fruit. The merchant who sold it to her winked in apology. He's far away now, probably selling his wares to other fools who desperately want to believe. Her stomach rumbles, in preparation for the bread ration she will receive in the afternoon. It has to last her until tomorrow morning. She has learned to take small bites, to lengthen the meal, even if cruel hunger pangs whisper in her ear that she should devour it whole. 

It's the same, she finds, with many of Unkar's patrons. They have lost the ability to wait, to be patient. They devour the flesh without really consuming it. Desire is never really fed, never really sated. It doesn't exist. 

She has never felt a spark in her body, despite the multiple ministrations of her customers. Sometimes she'll moan and writhe under them to make them feel better, but she hasn't yet mastered the art of artifice, so it always comes out a little forced. 

Most of them think she's frigid because she belongs to the desert. 

The truth is she belongs to no one. Unkar Plutt may want to keep her under his thumb, but she is always dreaming of elsewhere.  She is never really present. She tries to be remote, like an island. She came across a brochure once, uploaded on a forgotten datapad. It advertised an outpost on a planet whose name she has forgotten, but the gist of it was that, for a considerable sum, you could "rent" the planet for a month and turn it into your own island in space. Just you and a ball of molten lava, spinning in the ether. She'd like to go there someday. 

She dreams about it sometimes. Not the desolate planet, but an actual island. She knows it's not real, because it's so _green_. Everything there is in deep relief, and the rocks are covered in moss and lichen. The cliffs are surrounded by blue ocean. There is not a speck of sand. A pretty fantasy, nothing more.

But lately, she hasn't been able to go there in her mind.

The mask enters her dreams, unbidden.

It's been two weeks since that strange encounter, and she has only thought of the dark stranger sporadically, between meals and naps. Her nights, however, have been populated with nightmares of him standing over her bed, watching her sleep.

She tries to forget. The sensation of him inside her still stings. She takes comfort in the knowledge that he won't come back. Not him. He seemed too proud to want to do something like this again. With someone like her. 

* * *

Kylo Ren submits a request to the Starkiller Base in which he lets his commanders know that he must remain in the Western Reaches awhile longer, due to the sensitive nature of his mission.  It's truly more of a formality, since Hux will not _dare_ to interfere with Supreme Leader Snoke's plans.  His Master always trusts him to make the right choice. Kylo is confident he will acquire more information about the map if he remains in the vicinity of the Inner Rim. It's merely a fringe benefit that he can get on Hux's nerves with his delay and also investigate that small, _small_ matter on Jakku. 

He's certain it's only a fluke. Still, Kylo Ren is nothing short of thorough. 

* * *

 Rey cleans herself meticulously with sand and water. The man who has just visited her had grime under his nails. He was not unkind, but he left dirt trails all across her chest. Sometimes she wonders if it is futile to wash the body, since it always acquires fresh filth. She'd like to take a long, hot bath, but that is only allowed once a year, during the festivities in honor of R'iia. 

Her skin smells like a tannery, like someone has stripped the husk of an animal and beaten it into submission. 

She steps out of the tub and ties a tourniquet around her upper arm. The syringe pod is ten years old, and was used by one of Unkar's previous girls, but it's self-sterilizing and she hasn't gotten sick or pregnant yet. 

After she's done with this, she pulls the coarse robe over her naked body and lies in bed under the woolen blankets, shivering lightly. 

One more night survived. What will tomorrow bring?

There is commotion outside her door. She can hear Unkar's heavy steps, recognizable by now for their lack of grace. One of these days he'll drop dead of a heart attack, and she won't feel very sad.

He seems to be talking in loud whispers to someone.

_What now?_ she groans, standing on her elbows.

The door to her room creaks open and Unkar's fat, stubby hand is beckoning someone in. 

Rey clutches the blanket to her chest.

The mask is the first thing she sees, for everything seems to begin and end with it. The darkness coalesces around it, turns it into a floating orb. But of course, there's a body attached to it.

She does not even notice when Unkar closes the door behind him.

"You're _back_." The words tumble out of her mouth before she can stop them. She's too surprised to censor herself.

The masked figure regards her in the same remote fashion as in her nightmares. She almost wonders if she's dreaming. 

But he's taller in real life, more substantial. 

He seats himself in the same wicker chair. 

"Why -" But she stops herself. _Why have you come back?_

Does it matter? What matters is he is here. _Who_ is he? His mask invites you to guess. Does he ever take it off, she wonders? Is the face underneath irretrievably mutilated and scarred? Has the flesh been burnt off? Or - is he completely normal? No, his face must be grotesque, she decides. 

The thought of accommodating his giant dick again makes her shudder. She feels her stomach clench.

Rey exhales slowly. "Would you care for a drink?" 

It's something she'll ask customers when she's feeling more nervous than usual. She doesn't have much to offer. The fridge is stocked with Jakku's brand of moonshine, which she abhors, and some kind of synthesized water that tastes like piss, to her estimation.

It's only two seconds later she realizes - he'll probably have to take off his mask to drink.

Funnily enough, he cocks his head to the side almost as if he heard her thoughts.

She blushes, against her will. "Maybe not then." 

He's just sitting there, watching her. It's unnerving. At least last time he got on with it. Why is he taking his time now?

She still can't believe he returned to this wretched place. What for? The great sex? _Ha._

"Was - was your journey good?" 

These inane questions usually make the time go faster with other patrons, but he is silent. Watching. There is a tingling at the back of her neck, like a frisson. She hopes she isn't catching Alys' flu. 

"Do I have something on my face?" she asks with the hint of a barb, even though humor is far from her mind. 

"Do you always talk so much?"

His voice startles her. It is rich and corrosive, like soldering iron. The deep sonority envelopes the room, as if it were an aquarium. 

She bites her lip. "No, I'm usually  _occupied_."

The euphemism isn't lost on him. At length, he makes a move to rise.

Rey almost issues a sigh of relief. She unties the cord at her waist and lets the robe glide down on the sheets around her. 

"I did not tell you to undress," he specifies coolly as he approaches the bed.

She looks at him more closely now and notices that his tunic is made of thick, impermeable material and the belt at his waist is fashioned out of some polymer steel. It must make for uncomfortable garb.

He stares down at his belt for a moment - which confounds Rey. How does he always know what she's _thinking_? It can't have been a coincidence. Does the mask have some kind of special scanning technology?

"Then, do you just want to talk?" she asks, reaching back for her robes. 

He seems to ponder her question for a moment too long as his mask dwells on her naked body. 

Rey wills herself not to flinch under his metal gaze. She hasn't groomed properly for him because she wasn't expecting another customer. Can he see that her legs are unevenly shaved? That her knees are slightly knobby? That the skin of her upper arm is red from the syringe? 

"Lie down," he commands. 

Rey lowers herself until her head hits the pillow. 

"Look at me." 

She doesn't understand him. It's slightly uncomfortable to stare back from this position but she obliges. She is recumbent and watching. 

* * *

 Her eyes are an earthy shade of brown, like muddy soil. You could sink your hand in it and get stuck in the mire. She is a feral child, deep down. Repeated intercourse should have dulled her sheen. She should be a faded woman by now, as all pleasure slaves tend to be. Though there is a tired quality to her, what he discovers is that she's still - weirdly, _absurdly_ \- innocent.  Her inability to act betrays her. Her frankness is not calculated.

Instantly, he dismisses the possibility that she is a well-versed spy or some kind of agent.

Whatever she is, she doesn't seem to be aware of ... _it_. The Force. 

He can read her mind easily, at first, when he enters the room. She gives him immediate access to her thoughts as she is nervous. She doesn't know any better.

He almost thinks _well, that settles it._

 But as the minutes pass and she sits there on the bed, toying with the cordon of her robe, she seems to build a shield around her. The energy is diffused, unfocused. She is clearly doing it unconsciously.

And it is _frustrating_.

He can see her most inane thoughts - polymer steel - but he can't seem to influence them, to bend them to his will. It's as if she is both powerful and powerless. A vessel who has no idea she is overflowing. 

He is used to people cowering before him in his interrogation rooms. This slip of a girl doesn't seem affected.

_We'll see about that._

He tells her to lie down, and he stands over her naked body. In this vulnerable position, reminiscent of his interrogation chair, perhaps he will extract the truth. 

* * *

 Rey waits for his gloved hands to lift her hips to him, she waits to feel his head at her entrance, driving into her with determination, just like last time. 

But he does none of that. Moments pass in utter stasis. No, that wouldn't be an accurate description.

Something _is_ happening. She can feel a kind of vibration traversing her body, an electrical charge. Is his mask scanning her? She almost chuckles at the thought. No, that would be silly. 

Her forehead is beaded with perspiration. The pressure in the air is almost alkaline, she can taste the sulfur and the brine. She is reminded of blue oceans and green islands...but she shakes her head firmly, blocking such images from her mind.

The masked figure seems to shift, to tremble in front of her, or is that just her blurred vision? 

Why is her mind suddenly a fog? Why are her limbs so heavy? Why is there a warmth in her belly? 

"Did you - drug me?" she grits through her teeth. 

And the sudden, very _real_ possibility makes her gut lurch. She stares at him accusingly, her eyes trying to pierce through the mask, trying to see the horrible flesh hidden inside - it _must_ be scarred, it must be burnt, it's probably _burning_ right now, she imagines his face in _flames, red, hungry flames_...

He falters and steps back, an echo of a gasp between them.

* * *

His skin is burning. The sensation washes over him like a bath of flames, but it's only a trick of the mind, his flesh is still intact. And yet - he feels this terrible itch to remove his mask.

He resists.

He resists and he steps back. He falters.

She's pushed him out. 

She is gifted with the Force, there is no way around it. And it's not just an inkling, a thin strand which people across galaxies sometimes propagate by accident. No. She is deeply attuned to it. She is a conductor. 

And she has no idea.

His heart beats fast, _too_ fast. He clenches and unclenches his fists. He feels dizzy with the possibility of such a discovery. He should get out of this room, but this is the first time in so long that he has met another Force user. 

And she is naked and unaware. How is this even possible? Is it a miracle or a farce? How is a negligible quantity like her endowed with greatness? 

Does that troglodyte Plutt know what he holds under his roof? 

He is seized with a sudden fear that someone will burst through the door and take her away - an irrational, _impulsive_ fear that his Master would not condone - but any Force user is precious, almost invaluable. 

Like a new, endangered species, she must be protected.

He turns back to her and closes the gap between them. Should he take her away now and deliver her to Snoke? This common whore?

...no, he cannot do that. 

She may have some power stashed in the membrane of her cells, but it is a brute and chaotic sort. His Master would be insulted. He must keep her a secret for now. No one must know, not even her. Especially not her. Not yet. 

"I did not drug you," he responds, ages later, it seems. 

"Why do I feel like _this_?" she asks hoarsely, eyelids fluttering with discharged energy. 

The interchange of Force between them has left a partial glow on her skin. 

 He reaches out with a gloved hand and charts a cold trail from her small chest to her stomach. 

Her eyes are glassy, and her body instantly arches into his touch, not because she is aroused, but because the midi-chlorians are dancing between them. 

_Fuck_.

Yes, he can _feel_ it, the thrumming of her latent power, meeting his own. He imagines taking off his gloves and sinking into the pure tide of their combined Force. 

It's a heady cocktail. And he's _parched_.

She issues a soft sigh and her belly trembles under his palm. His breath is shallow, hidden away by his mask. His fingers hesitate. He is almost tempted to let them slide lower, but he stops before he loses sight of what is in front of him. This isn't about _that_. He must not lose his head. She's only a girl. 

* * *

Rey doesn't know what she's feeling, if this is desire, or something else, something perverse and alien and _wrong_.

She feels murderous, but also ready to be slaughtered, as his gloved hand outlines her body. 

Moments before she wanted him to burn, and now she wants to burn too. If it's not a drug, then what is it? 

It's so strange. It's like spiders dancing on her spine. She's felt this before. The tingling has always been there, but muted.

Why does _he_ , of all people, heighten the sensation? 

_How_ did he do it?

Maybe it is a dream, after all. 

Before she can even ask, he's squeezing her waist, pressing down on her ribs painfully, cutting off her circulation. 

"What is _this_?" he spits.

The sudden anger in his voice breaks the trance and wakes her from her reverie.

She lowers her eyes and follows his touch. 

There's a purple mark under her left breast. 

"Oh...that's from -" she doesn't know the name of the previous customer, it's better that way " - from the man before you."

He cups the breast unkindly, fingers digging into her flesh. 

 "That actually chafes," she hisses between her teeth. His gloved thumb grazes her nipple carelessly and she hisses again, twisting her head.

The ghost of desire is dissipating, and she feels like the apricot pit, translucent and emptied. He has not even fucked her yet.

He lets go of her abruptly. 

Her breast looks mangled by metal teeth. She cradles it with her hand to soothe the burning skin. 

"You're not very gentle," she blurts out in another fit of sincerity.  

 "No, I am not," he replies starkly, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. 

This time, when he makes for the door, something in his movements alert her with prescience that it will not be long before he returns. 

* * *

It's not difficult to coax the information out of Plutt. The man is ready to fall to his knees and kiss the tip of his boot. He doesn't even need to use the Force. 

Her previous customer is a low-ranking lunar construction worker. He finds him waiting at a skiff station for the next transport, utterly oblivious to his crime.

Kylo can hardly compartmentalize his rage. His Master has helped him rein it in throughout the years, but he has also encouraged his apprentice to augment it and let it bloom whenever the chance arose.

He cannot judge if this is a chance or a waste. He just knows the black blood in his veins will not subside. He cannot reason with himself. He can hardly breathe. 

He kills the man with one deft stroke of his lightsaber. The head falls in the sand with a thud.

This is what you deserve, he thinks. The worthless worm had dared to touch and _mark_ her, a Force user, _his_ discovery. 

He would make sure no one else could taint the girl. She belonged to his Master now. 

* * *

 At first she thinks that her parents have returned. It is the only explanation. Why else would Unkar Plutt tell her she doesn't have to see any patrons tonight? Or on any night _again_? 

She runs to the window in a delirious fit, to see if her mother and father are waiting for her in the yard, but there is no one there, only her constant companions, the moons. 

"You've been retained exclusively," Unkar elaborates with a pleased grunt. 

"Exclusively?" she echoes, her shoulders sagging.

" _He_ doesn't want to share. I'm to keep you just for him."

Rey swallows the dryness in her throat. It is easy to fathom who the buyer might be. 

"You should be so lucky. I frankly don't know what he saw in you, skinny, stubborn thing," Plutt continues, oblivious. 

Rey bites her lip and turns back to the window.

She remembers kind Finn who had been taken away by his pilot. 

It may not be ideal, it may even be strange and a little _terrifying_ , but perhaps this is her way out of Jakku. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> apologies for the delay, i had to wrestle with my muse for a few months. thank you for your kudos and support! just another warning that this story continues to be dark and dub-con.

 

Rey inspects herself critically in the hand-held mirror. Her face is clean, but there are dark circles under her eyes and her lips are cracked. It’s the desert climate, it doesn’t exactly allow much in the way of hydration. She knows some of the girls use rockmite oil to make them full, but the stink of it is not worth it.

Her skin is relatively soft, at least. She’s bathed herself in whilk milk, which she borrowed from Alys. It was her friend who actually told her she might want to take better care of her looks now that she might find a way out of there.

“You don’t want him to get bored of you, or find someone better.”

She doesn’t relish these new priorities. For the first time, she has to care about pleasing a patron.

In any case, it’s not like she’s going to remain by his side forever. Given his ubiquitous mask and his stiff manners, he’s clearly some higher-up in the Order whose reputation would suffer if word got out about his nighttime affairs. Once she gets off Jakku, she will probably find a way to part with him. It’s not like he’ll have much use for a pleasure slave. He can afford to bed women ten times her worth.

She doesn’t have much of a plan once she finds her way to freedom. She _could_ roam the galaxy in search of her family, but that’s rather impractical, seeing as she doesn’t even know where to start. She could start a new life on a less arid planet, one with forests and rivers and mountains, like she’s seen in the holograms. But what would she do there? Her skills have been molded by desert life.

_No, don’t think like that. Jakku doesn’t define you. What’s important is to get out._

To that end, she has to make sure that her customer is satisfied. The trouble is that she doesn’t have a good grip on him, she can’t tell what he wants. And it’s not just the mask. He has a strange power over her…some kind of charged magnetic field that he can manipulate…like he is subjecting her to a mild form of torture. The feeling is both repelling and intoxicating, as if you were dipping your hand in a pool of darkness, not knowing what will snatch you, but willing to risk it anyway.

Sometimes she feels she is _communicating_ with him through that field. She can almost hear a whisper…but then it’s gone and she’s left in the dark.

She puts down the mirror and runs a hand through her hair. Maybe she’s toying with things far beyond her comprehension. Maybe this man is more dangerous than all the drunken fools she’s had before. But refusing him would not only render her stupid. It would render her a coward, and that is one thing she will never be.

* * *

 

He doesn’t know how to qualify the feeling at first, because he hasn’t felt this kind of rush in such a long time. He has spent the last decade in training and detachment, never hoping to find an echo in the galaxy. As he prepares to embark for the short ride to the night establishment, he feels genuine excitement. He has found a Force user, and not only that, but she is _ripe_ for the taking. It feels as if every single sacrifice and hardship has led him here, to his just reward. He may have had to suffer to relinquish the bonds of the past and remake himself into Kylo Ren, but it was all worth it, because now he would have a legacy. He has found a continuation.

Unkar Plutt’s subservient greeting does little to dampen his mood, though he would rather kill the oaf than see his disfigured mug every time he comes here.

“Has she been kept away, as I asked?”

It’s not really a question. Unkar knows very well that anything but compliance will end with his head between his knees, so he nods enthusiastically. “No one has touched her, Sir. No one.”

“Good.”

* * *

 

Rey struggles with the urge to turn around and look at him, but Alys has told her not to seem too eager, so she stands by the window with her head turned sharply, waiting for him to speak first. He has entered her room in the same quiet but efficient manner as before, acting very much like a proprietor.

She can hear his sedate breathing, coming out thick through his mask. His presence is like a choking fog, though she won’t admit to it.

“Is Rey your real name?” he drawls eventually, the mechanical warble making her hair rise on her arms.

She rubs at a spot between her thumb and forefinger. “Yes.”

“No other names?” he insists.

“Afraid not,” she mumbles, staring down into the courtyard where one of the men is sweeping the steps.

Her anonymity should be an advantage, shouldn’t it?

“Your parents. Are they still alive?”

Her head snaps up as if caught in a flame. Her eyes suddenly sting. Why is he asking about them? Does he know how much it _hurts_?

She looks at the dirty floor. She can see him from the corner of her eye, sitting in the wicker chair, waiting for her answer. Like a jailer waiting on his captive. Why did _that_ image come to mind? She shakes her head.

“I wouldn’t know, I…haven’t seen them since I was little.”

He cocks his head to the side. “They abandoned you.”

It sounds nothing like a question. It sounds like a bare fact. She wants to tell him _you don’t know that! They might come for me, they might be on their way right now!_ But what would she gain from that? She would only lie to herself.

She feels a pressure in the pit of the stomach. She doesn’t want to talk about this anymore. She needs to distract him. She takes the plunge.

“You know my name. May I know yours?”

She thinks he will refuse her this small request. She can’t tell what he’s thinking inside that mask…but if she clears her mind for a moment and _listens_ , she almost thinks she hears a whisper…

“You can call me Ren.”

She blinks. “ _Ren_?”

_Strange coincidence…Rey...Ren…._

“No other relatives then?” he asks sharply.

Rey sinks her fingers into her palms. She thought they were _done_ with family.

“Not that I’m aware of.”

He sounds like he’s making sure there’s no one in her life anymore. Rey suppresses a small shudder. Maybe she should ask him whether he wants her to undress. It would be easier to do _that_ than talk about _this_. 

But she’s not given the chance.

“Is that what you’re given to _eat_?” he asks, spitting the words out like pits. He sounds terribly affronted.  

Rey follows his gaze. He’s staring at her lunch platter. It’s still strewn with a few crumbs of bread she didn’t manage to lick off earlier. How did she forget to put it away?

“Oh, I’m sorry, that shouldn’t be there.”

Will he be angry that she’s such a slob? She grabs the platter and stashes it inside a cupboard.

“What about actual food?” he demands frostily.

Rey pauses in her actions, staring up at him in confusion. “This is…well, it’s the next best thing.”

“It’s powder,” he replies drily.

She’s slightly surprised he knows what polystarch looks like, given his privileged status. Some people have no idea what the poor eat. They’d be horrified.

“We have to make do,” she explains. “We don’t have arable lands on Jakku, or that much livestock. And we can’t afford bioengineering –”

“Don’t patronize me, I know the state of your squalid planet,” he snaps with a tinge of fury.

Rey grits her teeth. She has a mind to tell him where he can shove his patronage, but she tries to steady her temper, for her own sake. “I wasn’t patronizing you.”

“You need to eat better. This kind of diet will only weaken you.”

“Weaken me?” She doesn’t understand the direction of the conversation. _Does he want me to be fatter? Does he want me to have more curves?_

He rises suddenly, as if impatient with her.

Rey folds her arms defensively. “I don’t have the freedom to choose my rations.”

  _Prick._

He turns towards her abruptly and she can see, despite his mask, that she’s angered him somehow, although R’iia knows she hasn’t said anything too impolite. Or does he want her to be all smiles and coos? She’s had some customers - hard men in their day-to-day lives - who required her to play the childlike doll in order to satisfy them. But she was never good at playing that role and so they were rarely satisfied.

Ren approaches her seat by the window. He looms over her like a punishing specter. Rey holds very still, uncertain of what may follow. Maybe he wants to take her here, against the ledge. Maybe he wants to fuck her while she stares at the moons.

She gazes into his mask, seeking answers she knows she won’t get.

"What is that smell?" he asks severely.

Rey blanks momentarily. _My smell...Oh!_ She blushes slightly, looking away. "I, um, used milk for my skin. To make it softer."

He grunts. "I don't want you to be _softer_."

She swallows thickly. That could mean a number of things. "What _do_ you want?" 

He doesn't answer, of course. Why would he make it easier for her?

His gloved hand suddenly comes up to her face and she tries not to flinch. She focuses instead on his built, on the way he carries himself. What is underneath all this pomp and circumstance? What is he hiding?

She has a sudden vision of him in a bleak, cold room, interrogating innocent people, pulling out their secrets by force - 

His fingers clench next to her face.

There it is again, that magnetic field. Like small shocks across her skin, a million insects traveling her face. But he’s not touching her.

“Do you feel that?” he asks, and his voice has acquired a diffuse, fragmentary quality.

She licks her lips, almost _tasting_ the strange energy on her tongue. “…yes.”

 _Don’t be afraid…. I feel it too_ , she hears suddenly in her ear, like the sound of water falling against sharp rocks. But…that can’t be right. _He_ couldn’t have said it. It didn't sound warbled. 

He lowers his hand to her shoulder, but he still doesn’t touch her. It’s as if he’s holding onto the fringes of an invisible veil.

This time she knows he did not drug her, or alter her state of mind. This is…something else, something that only he and she seem to grasp.

She’s suddenly gripped by a deep anxiety - a foreign panic, a fear that doesn’t belong to her...

 _He_ is afraid…that he will lose her…

She doesn’t understand. If anyone has the power here, it’s him. He can leave whenever he wants and just forget about her. Like her parents.

Rey swallows thickly. Without thinking, she reaches out and grips his wrist.

He stiffens painfully under her unwelcome touch. Even through the fabric, she can sense his disturbance. But she needs to get off this planet. She can't stay in this place anymore. 

“Take me with you,” she pleads softly.

* * *

 

Gods.

_Take me with you._

Her soft request, those pleading fawn eyes, her parted lips, the hand around his wrist, feeling his pulse, begging him for his tutelage, for his power.

What he hears is, _Be my teacher._

He is consumed by a deep possessive need. She has no idea what he can do, what _she_ could do, if she let him –

But he doesn’t need her permission. He knows he has it. In this moment, she is his.

He rips her cotton trousers to shreds, eliciting a small gasp of surprise from her. He parts her thighs and runs his fingers against her dry cunt… It won't do...it’s not enough… he needs direct contact…he needs to feel her flesh pulsing with the Force.

He throws his glove on the floor impatiently and reveals his bare hand to her. His palm descends on the inside of her thigh, feeling the organic warmth there, the blood pounding underneath the shallow layer of skin. He needs to hear it _thrum_. He brushes her folds, seeking moisture, seeking a response. He sinks two digits inside her.

Rey startles sharply, gripping his shoulders to steady herself.

Her eyes are dark, the whites almost gone. She is both terrified and curious, like an animal caught in a trap. He is rough but precise, rubbing his thumb against her clit and dragging his fingers in and out of her cunt. He delves into her mind in the same way he’s delving into her. At first she is too overwhelmed by the force of his actions to do much but whimper, but gradually, her hips inch forward and her breathing becomes more elaborate.

 _That’s it…open your mind for me…._ This is about her, not about him. He is – he is not deriving anything base from this contact. There’s no pleasure of the flesh, he reasons. This is spirit meeting spirit, teacher guiding apprentice. He is remote. His hunger is an abstraction which leads him on. It is the hunger of the Dark Side, nothing more.

But he chases it, because that is what he has been trained to do.

It is…thrilling.

* * *

 

“Say it again,” he says harshly, making her whole body throb. She hasn’t ever felt like this. She has sometimes felt close to coming undone from her own ministrations, but this is nothing like the comforting warmth in her belly. This is _unbearable_. It’s like having a spear driven into you, again and again. And you crave the splitting sensation at the center of your being, because it reveals something new, something never before apprehended.

The novelty has paralyzed her senses and rendered her boneless and rigid, like a burning log.

“I…”

“Say it again,” he demands, intensifying his rhythm, his fingers clenching inside her cruelly.

"Ohh..." She groans in pain and pleasure and a heady mixture of both as her head falls into her chest.

"Say it," he half-growls, making her whole body shudder.

“ _Take me with you_.”

He retracts his fingers before she can hit her peak. The sudden loss wrenches an inhuman sound from her lips. She sees them – his victims – screaming in pain in a metal chair, begging for him to stop, making the same inhuman sounds. But she wants him to _continue_.

_No._

Her eyes startle open.

He has already retrieved his glove from the floor and is walking away from her.

“Ren…” she trails off, her mind a blur.

“I will see to it,” he grits harshly and yanks the door open.

* * *

 

He cuts off three fingers from Unkar’s left hand. The whoremonger cries like a baby, clutching at his stump.

“This should teach you to starve her.”

* * *

 He knows he can’t let her stay here any longer. He’s made that vile lout weep for his fingers, but he won’t give her better food if there isn’t any on this wretched planet. She will slowly wilt away if she is not removed from this cesspool.

There are two impediments to his desire. Firstly, he can’t bring her up in front of his Master like this. She’s no better than a common whore. It would be an insult. She doesn’t even know about the Force. Under his guidance, however, she would rise through the ranks quickly and become worthy of an audience in front of Supreme Leader Snoke.

The second thing is how to explain her presence on the Starkiller base if she is nothing but a pleasure slave. It is true that he has enough authority in his quarters to avoid idle questioning, but Hux is always seeking a pretext to undo him.

And yet…perhaps Rey’s low purpose is exactly what will give him what he wants.

* * *

 

“This must be a _ghastly_ farce,” Hux spits with very little regard for decorum. He is usually far more obsequious in front of Supreme Leader Snoke, even if they are only in the presence of his hologram. But the news of Kylo Ren intending to bring a pleasure slave aboard his ship is enough to drive him wild. His face is the color of a fresh bruise.

“I will _not_ have the First Order made a mockery of. This is outrageous and vulgar –”

“It is _more_ vulgar to spend useful time seeking a warm body when I can have one any time I require,” Ren replies coolly. Now that he has found a strategy, he no longer feels uncertain about it. His confidence is almost overpowering. He stands before his Master with complete composure. He is _meant_ to have this, after all.

“I thought you would be pleased,” Kylo adds smugly. “You are always saying I am wasting resources on my expeditions, regardless of their nature.”

“ _Pleased_? I cannot believe I am hearing this. This is a disgrace. Master, surely you must see –” Hux starts, but Snoke raises a hand to stop him.  His empty sockets would be enough to send a chill down any man’s spine, but the General is made of stronger stuff than that.

“It is not up to you, General…” his voice trails off silkily. “It does not affect your responsibilities. And, as my apprentice has pointed out, it would only save time.”

Kylo Ren feels his lungs filling up with a sweet fragrance. Even his Master agrees. He has surely sensed this is the right path. It is all falling into place.

“However,” Snoke continues smoothly, turning to him. “You will leave the channel open for me.”

Kylo frowns. “Master?”

“Whenever you take this girl, I want to be made aware of it. I want to be present in your mind, to make sure you are spending your energy correctly. Once a month should do it.”

There is a painful ticking in his jaw. He tries not to show his surprise. He must not falter now. It is essential to stand still. “Thank you, Master. I shall do as you say.”

_Once a month._

He has to fuck this girl once a month. He was counting on the ruse…but not on having to go _through_ with it. 

He realizes this is the only way he’ll be allowed to keep her. She has to fulfill her purpose. 

Does Snoke suspect that he has other plans for her? Is he punishing him for daring…? Or allowing him to foster his discovery, but keeping him in check?

He is assaulted by conflicting emotions; anger, fear, frustration, even a pinch of admiration for his Master’s wisdom, but it’s never good to show such instability in public. He slips on his mask, relishing the cooling effect of the visor.

Hux is still glaring at him as if he were the vilest creature in the universe. _Good_. He’s never sought his regard anyway.

Now…he must retrieve his desert rat and possess her. 

He feels no compunction. He will fuck her as many times as is required, if that is the price he must pay. She will be grateful to him someday.

He imagines a glorious future for them. One day, she will kneel in front of him, just as he kneels in front of his Master. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm really touched and delighted you still want to read more of this! thank you for all your lovely encouragements, i didn't expect that! i don't think any big trigger warnings apply to this chapter, but yes, their dynamic continues to be pretty dark.

A small procession of curious on-lookers has gathered to watch her leave. Some stand in the doorway, some are scattered in the courtyard and some even wait on the desert road, to follow her beyond. It’s eerily similar to a religious ceremony. But gossip circulates quicker than breath, and everyone knows she has been handpicked by the frightful Leader of the Knights of Ren. It is not only an honor, but sheer lunacy. No member of the First Order has ever freed a pleasure slave, much less someone of Ren’s imposing stature. No one has the courage to question it, but the event is shrouded in mystery for all of them. 

Unkar Plutt is sitting in his room, licking his wounds. He doesn’t care to watch her go. He thinks there’s something rotten about this deal. There must be something crooked in Rey for such a man to want her. She’s certainly no queen of beauty. But she has seduced him somehow.

Rey says a teary goodbye to Alys and Jessika, accepting their embrace. She can see the envy in their eyes, though they do their best to quash it.

“I’ll come back for you,” she tells them earnestly.

Their smiles are brittle. Every freed slave says the same thing, and they never mean it. But Rey does. She swears to herself as she slips on her threadbare cloak and lifts up her small pouch of belongings that she will one day reduce this establishment to _ashes_.

She is jolted by her own thoughts. _Ashes_? No…she would never be so violent…it feels as if some other Rey was contemplating destruction.

She inhales sharply, breathing in the scent of what used to be her wretched home. Her only home. She steps out into the courtyard. Night has fallen and the two moons cast their fairy light on her. They are saying goodbye as well.

A private speeder is waiting for her on the desert road. A bevy of Stromtroopers is escorting her to the main ship a few miles away.

Rey slips through the gates, and for a brief, mad moment she is tempted to run in the opposite direction. No doubt, the Stromtroopers are armed with blasters and would incapacitate her immediately.

But R’iia, she’d risk it.

_No, don’t be foolish. A luminous future awaits you._

And again, her thoughts feel foreign. But still indelibly hers.

She is led into the speeder silently and the last thing she sees as she is driven away is Unkar Plutt watching her ominously from a window.

 

 

He should have attended to her personally, but his Master is watching him. He can’t show too much excitement. No, that’s not quite the right word. What he feels is this great tumult that will only be quieted when she is brought to him and deposited at his feet.

If something should happen on the road…if this horrid, dirty little planet interferes with what is rightfully his, he will burn it to the ground.  

He is irascible at the best of times, but now that he has to wait, he is almost going out of his mind. He struts down each corridor with murderous intent.  No one stands in his way; they know he would gladly use them for sport.

At last, there is news that an escorting party has arrived on Deck Five.

He shoves his mask on roughly.

“Bring her to me now.”

 

 

The first sight he has of her, he is appalled. She is wearing a ratty desert garment, the kind that is supposed to protect you from sand storms, but would prove ineffectual in an actual blast. He has never seen anything more wretched. Of course, the Force illuminates her body and renders her distinguished even in such tatters. But he will not have it  _ever_ again. She will be dressed in finery from now on, just like him.

Rey looks around disoriented, cataloging every detail of her new world. Her eyes roam freely. She stares at him and smiles briefly, nervously.

He clenches his jaw, grateful for his concealment.

“Take her to my quarters.”

 

 

If she was smiling before, she isn’t now. She wanted to start things on the right foot. She wanted to put on a friendly face, but she isn’t sure anymore.

She is standing stark naked in front of him while hot water and soap pour down her scalp.

The droids are cleaning her thoroughly. Their little pads scrub her ferociously. Her skin has turned a bruised red from their ministrations.

Kylo Ren is sitting on a chair in front of them, overlooking the “purification”.  

Her clothes have been burned, and she was made to watch as the droids destroyed them. She was allowed to keep nothing from her old life – but there weren’t many souvenirs to begin with. Still, it feels rather cruel to strip a person bare while you – while you still have a mask on.

Because he has not relinquished the dreaded helmet as he watches her being bathed.

The droids pause when they have finished a cycle of cleaning.

“Again,” he drawls mechanically.

Rey wants to scream. She has already been decontaminated by the ship’s centrifugal sterilization system. You’d think she’d be “purified” by now. What else does he _want_? Will her life from now on consist of submitting to his whims?

 _No…I have my freedom now. I’ll do something with it_, she thinks sourly as she raises her arms and lets the droids do their work.

 

 

He doesn’t want to dwell on the minutiae of her body, but it is proving hard.

He has already seen her in various states of undress, but it’s different in this confined space, with the knowledge that she is entirely his.

Droplets of water glide down her throat. Her small breasts rise and fall with each movement. They are lathered in soap. Bubbles break against the valley of her thighs. She is a child, but the air around her thrums with power. He could raise his hand right now, sink into her channel and drink from it. Have his fill of her until she collapsed on the floor.

He swallows thickly. The Force is the Glory and the Burden, as his Master likes to say.

She turns to him suddenly and lunges forward, ignoring the droids’ punishing brushes.

“Please,” she says quickly.

And he thinks she will demand that he stop.

“I’m naked, but you’re still wearing, well, everything. I can’t even see your _face_ ,” she stammers, her breathing shallow as rivulets of water fall down her shoulders.

"Take it off," she demands softly. 

He inhales sharply. This he did not expect.

Her eyes plead with him. Her mouth, however, is set in a stubborn line and he can sense the delicious thread of her Force, trying to pry his mask open.

Oh, _Gods_. She is truly perfect, and she hardly knows it. Still rough and insubordinate, but it will be such a satisfaction to break her in.

This time, he rewards her. It’s her first night on his ship, after all.

He decompresses the joints at the back and removes his helmet from his head.

 

 

She stumbles a little on the wet surface. It’s not her fault, the floor is slippery. But she might lose balance even if she were on solid ground.

She pictured so many men, so many faces. All of them ravaged by war, lined by age, hardened by hatred. And if she pictured a young man, she expected a coarse, clinical youth with degeneracy in his eyes.

He is none of that. Or maybe he is all of them ground into a fine paste, spread over a delicate, porcelain skin.

He is smooth and violent and entirely too …beautiful.  Not handsome. Some men are rugged and leathery and tan and Alys calls them “roguishly handsome”. Kylo Ren’s beauty is classical, symmetrical, coordinated for a pure, striking effect.

But…despite this princely complexion, his separate features are so violent. His mouth is large and sensuous, ready to snap and growl. His jaw is lined with blunt steel and his dark eyes burn with a cold fire. His rich charcoal locks look as if they are constantly being tugged away from his scalp. As if he pulls at his own hair in despair.

She shudders deeply at this alien face. And welcomes the downpour of water, closing her eyes against the searing image of him. Wishing it could be washed away. 

But she opens her eyes, after a while.

Because he is watching her, and it’s a completely different feeling without his mask.

His eyes slash at her skin in tiny increments. He is undressing her of her very _flesh_ , it seems. As if there were _something_ beyond that.

Her throat is dry. She tilts her head back and opens her mouth. He cocks his head to the side, his gaze unwavering.

Rey lets the water pour into her mouth until it overflows.  She lets it dribble down her chin and throat and chest. She wants to drown. She wants him to look away, she wants him to keep looking. It is a new, terrifying feeling. 

She chokes and spits the water out, wiping her lips with the back of her hand.

His jaw ticks as he stares at the water swirling down the drain.

“That’s enough, I think,” he murmurs without his usual confidence.

The droids instantly float away from her and return with dry towels.

Kylo Ren rises from his chair. “Supper will be brought to you. Afterwards, you should rest. Do not wait for me.”

He stalks out of the ’fresher without a second glance back.

Rey shivers as she is toweled dry.


End file.
